


The Bandit's Tale

by ScriptrixDraconum



Series: "Hero" Companion Piece [12]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bandits & Outlaws, Captivity, F/M, Language Barrier, POV Male Character, POV Third Person, Retelling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-10-09 01:50:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10401054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScriptrixDraconum/pseuds/ScriptrixDraconum
Summary: Thrynn never wanted to claim a woman. He hated the practice. But he couldn’t let Garthek kill this one. Dibella forgive him, this was the only way to save her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheDragonLegion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDragonLegion/gifts).



> This short story is dedicated to TheDragonLegion, who requested a retelling of the "Hero Series" events through Thrynn's eyes, in particular his interactions with the story's protagonist, Deborah. I had wanted to do something like this for several characters, so I figured I'd start here. It's a wonderful idea, indeed.
> 
> Thrynn, despite all his vapidity, is actually a very complex character. He's an asshole with a heart of gold, just trying to get by.
> 
> (Contains spoilers for the Hero Series stories).

Thrynn had heard about the woman from others in the band while they ate dinner. He hadn’t been included in the meeting – he almost never was.

The woman had entered the back room from The Walk. The door hadn’t been locked. There hadn’t been a need. No one had been banished for at least half a year; that woman was certainly long dead.

For a moment, just a small moment, Thrynn imagined this intruding woman was the angry spirit of someone sent into the dark. And then, he wondered if The Walk actually ended somewhere above ground. Somewhere pleasant. A small farm, perhaps. Nice old couple. They made soup.

Maybe this woman was one sent away years ago, back for blood.

He chuckled at his imagination.

“Let’s go see,” Siv suggested.

Thrynn didn’t need any convincing.

 

The woman, unconscious, had been dragged to the nearest hall. Men, and a few women, were already sampling the meat, poking at the woman’s robust body, peeling back her white top to peer at pale skin, tugging at the odd blue fabric of her trousers. Her hair, long and the color of tilled farming soil, was pulled back, messy. Someone jiggled the woman’s large breasts. They didn’t bounce as much as Thrynn expected. She probably wore a binding.

He wished they didn’t do that, fondle and examine new women like cattle or horses on the block. Not everyone did. Not Thrynn, and not his friends. Every time, he wanted to tell them to stop. Every time, he held his tongue. He was already on thin ice.

He didn’t want to die. And he definitely didn’t want to take The Walk… even if the end promised a cozy farmstead and soup, which it probably didn’t.

The band leader stepped forward, shooing away the gropers. He scratched his scraggly, greying red beard. He bent over the woman, studied her with his eyes, then moved an arm over to the side, up, the other side, down. He grabbed the woman’s chubby face and angled it this way and that. The man then stood, and said nothing. He was thinking.

That was never a good sign. Thrynn’s heart began to pound.

The leader usually claimed any new woman, and immediately. Anyone who wanted her would have been able to announce a challenge, but that rarely happened. Garthek was too skilled a fighter.

Whenever Garthek had to think about someone’s fate, the end result was death, or The Walk, or The Pit. Instant death was always the kinder of the three. Kinder to everyone. Nobody liked the sounds that women made in The Pit, at least no one with a soul. Anyone could save the condemned person from this fate. To Thrynn’s knowledge, no one ever had.

Thrynn heard his heartbeat in his ears, felt it in his throat. His chest burned with nerves.

Yesterday, he had finalized his plans to escape the band. It was to happen during the next coming weeks. No one knew, not even his friends. He would have headed to The Rift. He had family there. And the trees were pretty.

“She came from the dark,” Garthek announced. A simple, definitive judgement. The leader pulled his sword from its sheath.

 _Dibella forgive me_ , Thrynn muttered to himself, and stepped forward.

“I claim this woman,” he bellowed. Everyone heard. Everyone needed to hear.

Garthek turned toward Thrynn, bright blue eyes blazing. His sword hovered dangerously over the woman’s midsection.

“I claim her,” Thrynn repeated with slightly less bravado.

“I heard you,” said Garthek. “It does not concern you that she appeared from the dark?”

Thrynn glanced at the harmless-looking woman, and then back at his deadly, slightly deranged band leader. “Nope.”

Garthek’s temples bulged as he gritted his teeth. He wanted the woman dead. That was clear. The old man was superstitious; he probably thought the woman was a demon, some daedra sent to cause trouble.

“You will need to break her,” Garthek insisted, driving the point in by jabbing the air in front of Thrynn with his sword.

“I know,” Thrynn replied. That was the part he was going to hate. He would do it, though – _his_ way.

The leader lowered his sword. He still had death in his eyes. “The boy finally claims a woman!” he hollered. The crowd laughed. Garthek then sheathed his sword and turned away. “Take her,” he said with a dismissive wave before leaving the room.


	2. Chapter 2

The strangely dressed, robust woman slept for a long time. The welt on her head was not that bad; Thrynn had a healer make a poultice to help it heal. While the woman slept, Thrynn bound her wrists with rope. He didn’t want to, but if he didn’t, people would have noticed. If he didn’t restrain her, the woman might have attempted to fight him or run away. He would have been forced to subdue her, for show, to prove he had control over ‘his’ woman. The thought of harming her nauseated him.

The band had rules. When they raided caravans, they avoided harming women, and never harmed children. Once in a while, though, women fought back, or defended their men, but these people were almost never well-trained in combat. Subduing farmer’s wives didn’t require much effort. Women were rarely killed during raids.

It was different for women who stumbled upon the band on the road, or on the rare occasion they came to this cave, looking for shelter or aid. Most people knew to keep away from places like this, knew that this particular territory was claimed, dangerous. Women who crossed the line were often captured, broken, kept. Some were killed. Many took their own lives.

The strong urge Thrynn felt to protect this woman was not unusual, but this particular time, it was a necessity. Something told him he was meant to protect her. He was convinced it was a mandate from the Divines.

Thrynn was startled by movement to his side, seen out of the corner of his eye. The woman was stirring on her bedroll. She mumbled something incoherent. Thrynn approached to hear her better, crouching at her side. He untied the canteen from his belt and offered it to the woman, but she shrunk away, as if she thought he was going to hit her with it. This puzzled Thrynn, though it should not have. Of course she feared him, too. He looked no different than the other miscreants in the band. Perhaps even worse, with his blood-streak war paint he just realized he still bore on his face.

He grasped the woman’s face to make her look his way. She winced, but obeyed. He offered the canteen again, and after a moment, she opened her mouth to accept the water. She drank thirstily, and Thrynn stood to go to the spring to refill it.

The woman cried out, beckoning him to turn back. He watched as she wiggled about on the bedroll, making odd faces like she was in a small amount of pain. It took him a moment to understand, but when she kept squeezing her legs together, Thrynn realized that the woman had to pass water.

 

Outside the cave, Thrynn wanted to untie her hands, let her do her own business, but he wasn’t sure if he should. He wasn’t sure at all how to help a captive woman do anything. He decided to help her take off her odd blue trousers, which looked to be too tight for her anyway. He walked around her several times, looking for a thong to untie or a belt to unfasten. There was nothing. Finally, at the front of the waist he found a single bronze button, which he undid, and a delicate bronze flap below the button which topped a line of clenched metal teeth. The teeth felt funny on his fingertip as he followed the line up and down.

The woman muttered something again. She was definitely speaking another language. Since when did Nords, or anyone for that matter, not speak normally?

Thrynn gazed up from a crouched position, annoyed that he couldn’t understand her, and annoyed at the woman’s odd trousers. The thought occurred to him to pull on the bronze flap, and he was pleased when the clenched teeth came undone. He wondered if the trousers were made in Cyrodiil or some other province. They certainly weren’t made in Skyrim, unless of course this woman invented the fastening.

The trousers came off with a bit of a struggle. The shockingly clean white fabric loincloth was easier. It had no flaps or ties to undo – it just slid off. Undressing accomplished, Thrynn led the woman to some bushes. She was probably nearly bursting, by now.

She mumbled yet again, her tone angry, and he let her go. The woman eyed Thrynn a moment before squatting, wincing as she did so. She seemed to be injured, but where? Perhaps under her other clothing. He would have to take her to the healer.

Water passed, Thrynn redressed the woman in her loincloth and led her back to the cave. She halted and said something, sternly, and nodded to her trousers. She wanted them back.

There was no way in Oblivion he was going to struggle with those things again. Thrynn shook his head and grasped the woman’s arm, only to have her pull back and shout at him.

“Those trousers are too tight for you,” Thrynn told her, adding a silent prayer that he would be understood. He grasped her again and they walked back to the cave, uninterrupted by further protests.

Thrynn led the woman to a storage area. An old, rotting wardrobe housed several spare bits of cloth or leather that could be fashioned into clothing. After rummaging through the items, Thrynn found a large piece of hide, probably from a fat cow or horse. The size seemed appropriate for a wrap skirt. He wanted to remove her loincloth for good – it would make passing water easier for her. The woman flinched, which annoyed Thrynn. Only after ripping the loincloth off of her did he realize that would only make him seem more dangerous to her. This was not what he wanted to accomplish.

The woman shouted at him, and Thrynn feared she would attack him for being too aggressive. He continued however in dressing her in the leather, which fit well. He found an old belt to hold it up above her wide hips.   

“What is this?” came a shout from behind Thrynn.

Garthek. Of course it was Garthek.

“Why are you clothing her!?” the leader continued, angry for no apparent reason. “Just make her walk around unclothed! It will help to break her, faster.”

“She’s my woman, Garthek!” Thrynn reminded him, tugging at the woman’s upper arm. The woman squealed. She was definitely injured.

“I do what _I_ want with her,” Thrynn added. “I’ll break her. Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”

Thrynn loosened his grip on the woman. He realized he must have been nearly crushing her arm.

Garthek had no reply, and instead grumbled before leaving.

Turning to the woman, Thrynn said softly, “Sorry about that. He’s kind of a cock. Crazy. Don’t worry though, I’ll protect you.” He gave her arm a gentle squeeze.

. . . . . .

The woman’s stomach had started to growl, and Thrynn was hungry for dinner, too. He led the woman to the mess hall and sat her down to a plate full of roasted goat and boiled potatoes. Thrynn shoved a chunk of potato in his mouth before realizing that the woman, sitting at his side, still had bound hands.

He had entirely forgotten.

Smiling, he silently chastised himself for being such a fucking idiot, and untied the rope from the woman’s hands.

They were surrounded by people here. If she tried anything – stabbing him with a fork, for instance – she would have been subdued by any number of people. Thrynn would have been held responsible, but he was willing to risk a fork wound. He didn’t particularly want to sit there hungry while he fed his captive.

 

After dinner, Thrynn led the woman to the healer’s quarters. The older woman poked at the robust woman, making her wince multiple times. Thrynn wondered what had happened to his captive. Perhaps the band had beat her.

Thrynn’s woman appeared shocked at the healer’s use of magic. Sure, magic was sometimes an odd thing for a Nord to use, but never shocking. The woman was still not understandable in her cries and mumbles, but it was clear she began to feel better. She must have just been bruised, or perhaps she had pulled a muscle or two.

“Come,” Thrynn said to his woman, offering her his hand. She grasped it, and stood. This made Thrynn smile. The woman eyed him as if she saw him for the first time, then, which was puzzling, but Thrynn ignored it.

He was tired. The raid from the day before had been grueling, and he never slept well those nights. His blood always got too hot.

Thrynn led the woman to some bedrolls in a common room. There, he sat her down, and used one of his hair ties to bind her hands. Not terribly strong – she could break the tie if she really wanted to – but it was easier and a lot less harsh than a rope.

The woman sobbed. Thrynn wasn’t surprised. He sat down and faced her.

“You should sleep,” he said. “I’m exhausted, and you need to heal. Magic only does so much. Please don’t try to escape. Garthek will probably kill you if you do.”

She shook her head, and muttered something.

Thrynn sighed. This was utterly frustrating. “Do not run,” Thrynn said, pointing his finger at the woman and wagging it with each word.

At that, Thrynn turned his back to the woman – hopefully something she would see as a sign of trust – and quickly fell asleep.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Outside, after the woman shat in the bushes, Thrynn led her back to the cave. Before they entered he pulled her aside and attempted to communicate, once again, the direness of her situation.

“Do you understand?” Thrynn asked, hoping the woman followed his explanation and series of hand gestures that meant staying with him was the only way she would remain living.

As expected, the woman stared blankly, obviously confused. Thrynn was tired, and stressed to near limit. He repeated his question, enunciating carefully.

After an eternity of what must have been the woman’s slow mind finally realizing what was happening, she answered, “Do you understand.”

Thrynn’s heart sank. She had simply repeated his question, sounding like an answer. Perhaps she did indeed understand but didn’t know the correct way to say so. He sympathized. His mastery over words and proper speech had always been severely lacking and had led to ridicule for much of his life. He offered a smile to the poor woman, and then pulled her close.

“You are my woman now,” he said in punctuated whispers. “I don’t like it either, but at least if they kill you I have the right to kill them, blood for blood.”

He eyed her, and she eyed him right back. “My woman?” she asked.

Thrynn nodded slowly. _Something like that, darlin’_. He pointed to the cave entrance. “They need to think you’re my woman or that’s the end of you,” he said, hand cutting the air like an axe. He pulled the woman even closer, body flush to his. He grasped the woman’s upper arm. He hoped the torchlight allowed her to see his face. He always had an expressive face, and this woman needed to know how serious he was.

“Oh,” the woman breathed. Thrynn hadn’t a clue what the sound meant. She pulled free of his grasp and showed him her unbound wrists, offering them to him. This was a good sign. He shook his head, deciding she didn’t need to be bound. She could piss on her own, that way.

Suddenly the woman looked defeated. Broken, on the verge of tears. Usually this sort of reaction took the woman being actually broken by beatings and, occasionally, rape. Thrynn didn’t want his woman to be broken; he wanted her to understand that he was her friend and sole protector.

Thrynn reached for her hand and wove his fingers between hers. He lifted her chin so that she looked at him again. He pressed his palm to his chest and said, “I’m Thrynn, by the way. Did I even introduce myself yet? I have a shit memory. Too many headbutts. Too many kicks to the head, too. Too many head injuries altogether.”

The woman shook her head.

Thrynn growled, frustrated. Again, he pressed his palm to his chest. “Thrynn.”

The woman narrowed her eyes at him, as if she thought him a liar. Then her eyes widened and the suggestion of recognition crossed her face. She pressed her palm to her own chest and said, “Dibella.”

Thrynn’s heart stopped. His breath stopped. He stepped away from the woman, dropping her hand. Every muscle in his body clenched, bracing against the impact of the fear and guilt hitting his soul like a warhammer.

He regarded the woman with fresh eyes, looking her up and down. Could it truly be? Was this Dibella incarnate? Why had she not said anything? Did the Aedra not speak mortal tongues?

She was certainly curvy enough to be Dibella. She had the bosom for it. But she was disheveled and wearing odd clothing when she was found.

Odd clothing. Of course. Her clothes would not be of mortal make.

Thrynn dropped to his knees and gazed up at the goddess made flesh, tears in his eyes and sorrow in his heart. He crumbled before Dibella and sobbed through a string of apologies and supplications. She hummed a single sound, no doubt readying her magic. He knew death would befall him soon – he just hoped she would be merciful and make it quick.

Rapid fading footsteps stole Thrynn’s attention from his imminent death. He looked up to find no one standing before him.

Dibella had fled. Of course she had fled. Captured and humiliated by mortal men, she was no doubt confused and embarrassed and furious. But Thrynn was still alive; the goddess had pitied his wretched soul enough to spare him. Perhaps she understood his innocent intentions.

“Halt!” cried a man from down the hill, the direction to where Dibella had fled.

Thrynn’s fight instincts kicked in. Too late. Several of his band mates had joined in on the shouting.

They were chasing Dibella.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter that follows this scene will be written very delicately due to its violent nature in "Hero by Mistake".


End file.
